All I Know That's True
by APAccidentalAccount
Summary: It's three forty-five PM on a Monday, and Chloe just drove six hours to say goodbye.


**AN:** Ey, yo, folks. Oneshot based off an anonymous prompt from my tumblr:

"Pricefield Angst: Max is dying in Chloe's arms. Max's last request is to hear Chloe sing to her as she's dying. What song does she sing?"  
The song is Puppy Love by This Wild Life.

* * *

Chloe freezes with her hand on the doorknob.

She'll walk in there and Max will be sketching in her journal, or joking with her parents. She'll look up when Chloe walks in and give her that dorky smile that wrinkles her nose and makes her eyes dance, then she'll make a jab about Chloe always being late to everything.

Then she'd ask to hear the song again, because of course she heard every damn word while she was asleep.

The door swings open and Ryan's standing in front of her, his craggy face pale and drawn. He says nothing, and trudges back down the aisle to the hospital bed furthest from the door.

Chloe drifts after him, feeling vaguely ill as she passes the still bodies of strangers occupying the other beds, twelve heart monitors beeping asynchronously. She stops at the foot of Max's bed and forces herself to look at her.

She's too pale and too small here, the loose gown and blankets folded neatly at her midriff only accenting the frailty six months of being bedridden has given her.

Despite that, Max still looks like she'll wake up at any moment. She'll stretch first, making that cute little sound she always does, and then she's flump back into the bed, sigh, curl up on her side, and start rubbing her eyes. Then she'll blink groggily and give Chloe a lazy smile when she sees her, and Chloe will say some cheesy bullshit about how beautiful her eyes are. Max will laugh, but she'll be blushing, too, and she'll make grabby hands at Chloe until she gets her morning hug.

But it isn't morning, and Max isn't going to wake up. It's three forty-five PM on a Monday, and Chloe just drove six hours to say goodbye.

"Where's Vanessa?" she asks hoarsely, gripping the bed's railing hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

Ryan doesn't reply for a moment, reaching down and picking up Max's limp hand. It's dwarfed by his massive paws, but he handles it like glass, carefully tracing the lines on her palm.

Chloe tries to ignore the thick, pink scar running down the inside of Max's forearm.

"Work." He sounds like he's talking around a mouthful of gravel and broken glass. "Can't leave for another hour. You should sit."

She does, and counts each breath the ventilator pushes into Max's chest.

By the time Vanessa hurries into the room, Chloe's counted eight hundred and ten breaths.

She doesn't look up when Ryan's chair scrapes against the linoleum.

"He..." Vanessa coughs, then sniffs. "He said to call him in when we're ready."

Chloe watches Ryan bend over Max and place a shaky kiss on her forehead, tears streaking his cheeks. He brushes his thumb over her freckles, then straightens, his chest stuttering as his breath catches on words in his throat.

Vanessa leans into him until he finally lets his breath out in a heaving sob and drops back into his chair. She rubs his back and murmurs something in his ear before she steps around him to get to Max.

Vanessa reaches out and traces Max's brow, the swoop of her cheekbones, and the angle of her jaw, her brown eyes bloodshot and bone-dry. She bends down to kiss Max's cheek and stays there for a moment, long fingers combing through her daughter's hair.

Then she slowly straightens and wraps her arms around her weeping husband.

Chloe can barely breathe.

Max is still alive. She has a heartbeat. She breathes. Her hair grows. Machines are doing most of the work, but she's _still alive._

And at the same time, she isn't.

Her brain died on Friday.

Chloe supposes Max finally got tired of being forced to stick around.

Vanessa touches Chloe's shoulder and says something she can't hear. She just nods numbly, hoping it's a sufficient response. Chloe watches her walk out of the room, and spares a glance at Ryan before she turns back to Max.

He's staring hollowly at the ground, leaning forward with his elbows braced against his knees and his shoulders slumped. He looks as empty as Chloe feels.

Vanessa returns with the doctor and stands beside Ryan, capturing one of his hands.

The doctor reaches for the ventilator.

"Wait."

He stops and steps back, giving Chloe a sympathetic smile.

She takes a shaky breath, then clears her throat, reaching out and twining her fingers with Max's cold ones.

Max would've wanted to hear that song again.

Tears start to blur her vision, so she blinks hard and clears her throat again.

 _"You know, you never seem to mind_

 _When I show up late in this broke-down car of mine_

 _To pick you up, and take you out._

 _We make the best of our short time_

 _And though it's not enough you assure me that it's fine._

 _With windows down, let's go for a ride."_

Her voice catches on the last word, but she squeezes Max's hand and keeps going.

 _"'Cause when I mess up, you never give up your love._

 _Yeah, I'm a fuck-up, but you swear I'm enough,_

 _And all I know that's true—"_ Chloe's voice cracks badly, and she says the next line, blinking through a cloud of tears. "—is just how much I miss you."

She scrubs at her eyes with her sleeve, breathes deep to loosen the knot in her throat, and launches into the next verse.

 _"Hold up, you're running away._

 _I swear I told ya, it gets better today,_

 _And all I know that's true is just how much I l—"_

Chloe's throat closes up. She grits her teeth against a strangled sob, dropping her head to their hands.

 _How much I love you._


End file.
